


(in our hands) three cups

by isolationist



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Light Power Dynamics, Mild Sexual Content, Rule 63, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isolationist/pseuds/isolationist
Summary: the truth untold was that yukimura had never been opposed to marriage, knowing that it was her duty and more than that, the only way to unlock any possibility of actual power. she had just not until sanada met a potential suitor who had been able to provide her with what she had been looking for.sanada genichirou is hopelessly in love with his wife. yukimura sachie has ambitions. a mildly historical childhood friends to strangers to political marriage au.
Relationships: Sanada Genichirou/Yukimura Seiichi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	(in our hands) three cups

#### his bride, a willowy beauty

“Yukimura-san,” Sanada says, lowering his head. He has never entertained the idea of a love match despite being the second son, seeing it as a futile effort on his part. _This_ is not a love match, he reminds himself.

He remembers her from when they were children, playing together. At that time Yukimura had been lively, almost boyish as they practiced archery. She had been the most talented of them all, her accuracy unmatched, and she laughed as she bested them; one of his most vivid memories is of her braid coming loose as they ran through the wild nature of Rikkai, her shoes stolen from one of the other boys as not to dirty her own. Sanada has not seen her in over a decade and as such he has only heard the stories of how illness ravaged her body for years, how they had feared for her life before her miraculous recovery.

As an adult the eldest Yukimura daughter is as beautiful as the rumours say, not even the natural waves to her hair detract from the vision she makes. Her smile is pleasant, most agreeable, and her wrists just beneath the edge of her sleeves are thin. 

“Sanada Genichirou-san,” she greets him, like a stranger. 

Yukimura carries her head high. Most days she can make it through without needing her wheelchair, stubbornness and effort pushing her to refuse it. On some days, she makes use of a crutch, or a cane on which she leans heavily. It is always when she thinks he won’t see, unaware he has already arrived in the Yukimura estate for their meetings. Their courtship is strange, two strangers starting out gingerly to navigate what is set to come. The polite and startlingly tender atmosphere is difficult to break through, Sanada feeling so out of place in Yukimura’s presence because he just can’t quite seem to find his footing around her. Sanada wonders if she wants him at all, or if she’s just allowing it. If she has no other offers. Then he looks at her. 

With her family name and all that which she stands to inherit as the oldest child with no brothers, with her beauty and wit, Yukimura should have no trouble finding other courtships. Not even with her illness — the comments thrown his way when he mentions that he is courting lady Yukimura, has Sanada see that where he can only see strength and determination, other men do not. 

Rather, they see someone frail. Sickly. Someone delicate, who needs help and protection alike. That they enjoy the idea of this woman they have created in their minds. He finds it impossible to make the two pictures connect in his mind, no matter how he wants her to deem him reliable and honest. 

He doubts their courtship, her affection, but then her hand finds his good arm, or she casts him a gentle smile with offers of music and arts and conversations of politics, dispelling any concerns he might have had. He is a loyal dog for her attention already. 

She is cold, his wife. Sanada swallows his bitterness. In her gardens she is happy, wearing a smile like spring; but when she catches sight of him her expression freezes. It isn’t strange, early in spring, for snowfall. 

Gone as well are the inviting words, the promise of entertainment and exchange of ideas that he has found himself enjoying during their courting, and he feels as though he is an intruder walking through the house. He knows none of the servants, and as the Yukimura family isn’t large to begin with, the absence of her father after his move to the smaller estate is more noticeable. 

Sanada knows it should bother him more than it does, that he has married into _her_ family, that her father has to have known that he would look into retiring. It is not something he can confront any of them over either, had he wanted to, for no one has actually done anything unjust or pulled the wool over his eyes. He had known when he agreed to it that those were the terms. He had never been promised intimacy, no matter how gentle a smile or the many times those clever eyes had met his.

The equilibrium is frail. 

A titter of laughter — the younger of the Yukimura sisters still lives with them. Her presence does little to make the house appear less empty, though while she is far from outright unwelcoming she is distant, almost always lost in thought or in preparation to head out. She has seemingly only waited for her older sister’s marriage before entering courtship herself. He suspects she will move out before the year is over. 

The two women are arranging flowers today, a craft that Yukimura excels in. He knows from watching her that she prefers to keep the plants in soil, allowing them to experience the cycle of seasons outside, growing for as long as they can before the weather becomes unsuitable for them and gradually dying off, replaced by that which suits the next seasons. There is always something growing in Yukimura’s gardens, flowerbeds and landscaping meticulously planned to show all seasons from their best sides in their natural and full glory.

Sanada makes way to the study, a space so graciously granted to him for his work. Correspondence awaits him there. He will have to return to the capital, go on to visit other projects too, soon again. The cadence of Yukimura’s voice carries, even if the distance muffles her words. Sanada taps the pen against his desk.

Sanada wakes up in a sweat, heart racing and everything feels so hot it’s as though the room is spinning. It takes a second to register that he’s pressed down by an unfamiliar weight on his abdomen, torso bracketed by pale legs. Yukimura. It takes another second to register the cold press of a sharp blade against his neck.

“Husband, Genichirou-san,” Yukimura says, gently, like she couldn’t kill him in the blink of an eye. Sanada lies very still. His half-hard cock does nothing but harden further, much to his shame.

“Yes, wife?” he calls. It feels too strange — too intimate — to call her by her first name, and it would be too strange to call her by her family name. No other man would have her, he thinks. He also knows how loyal the people working for Yukimura are, how easily it would be swept under the rug and hidden away if he were to die. The blood would be cleaned out, the mats replaced where it had dried in. Yukimura would look beautiful in mourning wear. 

“I had a few topics I wished to discuss,” Yukimura says. Her voice is plain, devoid of any warmth, but a smile touches her trembling lips. Sanada wishes to cup her chin and kiss her deeply. He aches to be inside of her like during their wedding night. Her body curled over his does nothing to quell this desire, only eggs his mind on, and being abruptly awakened from sleep clouds his mind.

Sanada nods. Tries to, at least, before he feels the metal again as he moves. It’s not close enough to nick the skin, but he knows this knife and the sharpness of this blade, that any pressure against skin will make him bleed. Even swallowing may be too much. 

“Of course,” he says. “Anything.”

Yukimura is an ambitious woman. 

They stare into each others’ eyes, until she finally nods, pleased at whatever she had been searching for in his gaze. “If you think for even a second about attempting to get back on me for this, just know I’ll have you disposed.”

“Of course,” Sanada says.

Her hair is loose and clean as it hangs in wispy waves along her shoulders and lower down her back, falling in cascades to drape like a curtain when she leans closer. She is so beautiful it hurts to look at her, but Sanada can do nothing else as he’s trapped below her. Even if she hadn’t had the knife held securely and steadily in her hand, he isn’t sure he would have had the strength to push her off, no matter how much stronger he was physically. 

“This is not a negotiation,” she begins, voice lowered. Sanada remains quiet. It seems to be the correct choice, because Yukimura seems almost pleased, in the dim moonlight. “Firstly, I wish to make it clear that this changes nothing. I am not a docile little girl. I am your wife, but you will not see me debase myself to please you. If any such misconceptions exist still in your mind, do away with them.” 

Sanada would have never thought that. He knew her as a child, beautiful and gentle, but so needlessly fierce. He remembers her father once saying it was a shame she hadn’t been born a boy. 

She reaches behind herself, to where his hardness rests beneath the thin inner robe he wears to sleep. Sanada remains quiet even as she grabs him, casually but carefully slipping him free, even if his gaze darts across her face for a sign of anything. For a moment he fears the knife in her hand. Could he have displeased her so in the past that— 

“The second matter at hand… husband,” she says. “You will put a child in me. And this child shall bear the Yukimura name.”

“Of course,” Sanada says, a choked off groan leaving him as Yukimura sinks down on him. He loves Yukimura. Can not imagine a life where he doesn’t, no matter what would be different. 

Perspiration pearls along her hairline, small droplets slowly trickling into one bead that travels down the column of her neck. Her legs won’t be able to hold this position for long. But she is stubborn and Sanada too taken for that to be a concern at this moment.

Something changes after that night. Nothing much, but Yukimura no longer treats him so distantly. It is impossible to tell if she merely wants the act to be more believable; for people to think of their arrangement in a more positive light, for their future child’s sake. For Yukimura’s plans concerning their child. But by each passing day, she is less cold. Smiles more, even genuine smiles at times when he says something to amuse her or when they have guests who share gossip from the capital city. 

Yukimura begins to curl her arm around Sanada’s when they walk greater distances, forgoing her other tools to lean on him, have him take some of the weight off her legs as they move slowly through their house and gardens, even through the streets. They look the very picture of a newly married pair infatuated with one another. Sanada wonders if it eats away at Yukimura's pride too, being seen like this, but he can’t help the fluttering in his chest when he feels her touch. How his heart beats faster. How the rush of blood pinkens his face and ears. The slight swell of pride, at being seen as Yukimura Sachie’s husband. He is a fool for Yukimura. Had he a tail, it would wag happily.

Even behind closed doors, this shift persists. Sanada isn’t foolish enough to believe it to mean too much; perhaps he would have, were he still a teenager. He accepts it though, welcoming it with a ferocity that all but overwhelms him.

Sanada wakes up early. From the slight tone to the sky he can tell that it’s even earlier than he would usually rise. He lays there panting, mind full with vivid pictures somewhere between memories and fantasies. Yukimura is asleep beside him. 

In her sleep, she seems smaller. Awake, she’s clever and sharp. A little too tall, a little too thin. Shoulders set too straight. In moments like these none of that is too obvious. She is pale and her hair has escaped whatever attempt she makes at taming it, flowing freely over the plush pillow she prefers to the traditional. 

Midnight blue waves surround her, her hair a sea, and from these depths her neck emerges like a long and white line extending down to where the tops of her collarbones peek out of her sleepwear. It wouldn't take much to undo the fastenings of her robe and have her body bared for him, and Sanada flushes at how he aches for her company. He doubts she will let him touch her, unless it didn’t take when they tried for a child. Selfishly, he almost hopes it is so. 

#### her husband, strong and dependable

Yukimura knows her husband is handsome. That he appears perhaps a few years older than his actual age, a few fine lines on his face that do nothing but add to his austere charm. Sanada had always had a pleasant face as a boy. Truthfully, she had been surprised when seeing that same face in the photographed portrait she had been presented when father had breached the subject of marriage that winter. Yukimura recalls the plum blossoms outside her bedroom being in bloom at the time. 

His aged face had been solemn, strict. His gaze strong as it looked into the camera. That night, she had taken a gamble based on the boy she once knew as children before he had set off for tutelage under a renowned master in the capital city.

(He was the second son to his family, their lineage already secured through the birth of his nephew.) 

Yukimura holds onto Sanada’s arm in a light grip, her legs strong enough still to work at the pace they’re keeping — she hates knowing how much she slows him down, knows his natural pace when he makes his way alone from the footfalls echoing through the house. 

Yukimura keeps that first photograph of Sanada in one of her books. It’s more sentimental than she would like to appear, and at times she herself can’t tell if it’s genuine or just for play. She studies his face at the angle it is presented to her now. He is handsome.

“Husband,” Yukimura says, “I would like to paint your portrait one day.”

Sanada looks surprised as he glances down at her. Yukimura meets his expression with a steady smile. His ears turn a little pink, and he clears his throat.

“If that’s what you wish,” Sanada replies. Slightly confused, slightly pleased. He is less busy these days, many of his duties and responsibilities delegated to others. He should be able to find time in his day to sit for her. Yukimura nods, her smile slightly larger. Still as gentle. 

To capture his likeness would be a good project for the nearest weeks, and perhaps beyond too, when she began to swell with child. She is careful to not touch her still flat stomach, but the family doctor had it confirmed. (He had also warned her that it was early, to maybe wait a little before she told her husband.) She wonders how much their child will look like him. How much it will take after her. 

She straddles him in his sleep, the knife a heavy weight in her hand. She likes the feel of it. Sturdy, secure. Much like Sanada’s body beneath hers, coiled and heavy with muscle. She can feel his budding interest through his robe, already present before she sat down. It isn’t unpleasant, being so close to him. It is however an indulgence she can’t afford before she’s ascertained that he understands and is compliant in what she wishes. 

Were other people privy to her mind some would say she thinks too highly of herself, or that she has a need for control. It isn’t as simple as that, which is why she doesn’t show this side to them.

Yukimura wonders how her husband will react when he wakes up. 

If he will drive himself straight into the knife at his throat, or if he’ll manage to reach up and push her off. If he’ll get violent with her in turn, attempt to maim or even kill her, too overcome by adrenaline to recognise her — or perhaps because he is able to. She shudders lightly. Sanada has no reason to hate her. If she has gouged him correctly, his feelings fall somewhere close to the opposite of what the spectrum is said to be. Only a fool loves his wife. 

It is mere curiosity, she tells herself, to see what he will allow. How far he will allow her to go. Until he, like all those others, would act in a way to ensure that she is kept in her place. Yukimura hides away in her private rooms, in the gardens. She resolutely refuses to be intimate with him, knowing that she is all but fruitlessly hoping that their wedding night would have been enough. With days turning into weeks and no signs of it, it seems unlikely. 

Her moon cycle has always been irregular too, so it will be difficult to use as a measure. In a way, it is good that the family doctor is aware of her issues in this area too. It isn’t connected, they don’t think, to her other illness — no more than that a body like hers has never made anything easier. She should be able to conceive though. If not, it will all be for nought.

The truth untold was that Yukimura had never been opposed to marriage, knowing that it was her duty and more than that, the only way to unlock any possibility of actual power. 

She had just not until Sanada met a potential suitor who had been able to provide her with what she had been looking for, and though her father was nearing the end of his wit by allowing her to have a hand to play in these games, he was easy enough to make dance to her tune. Reminders of her weak constitution, of the lingering effects of her illness, how they better not do anything too upsetting or strenuous lest she wound up relapsing. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t try, didn’t have business associates or their sons over for visits to the Yukimura estate. Visits where those hopeful or brave or stupid enough would suggest the possibility of courtship when they thought her out of earshot, once she had served them tea and deemed them unsuitable. Those men, she reminded her father, were only after their fortune and lands, acting out of self-interest and greed. They would not act in the best interests of the Yukimura family, nor of Rikkai. 

She was a troublesome daughter to have, beneath the gracious veneer and elegant beauty.

Her father didn’t and still doesn’t know entirely what is in her mind, but he always knew that she was looking to secure the Yukimura name. That it wouldn’t die with him only because of his failures to sire a son. 

Her ambitions are grander than that, of course. Yukimura Sachie does not simply settle. The Yukimura name will not just survive past her, she will create a place for the family in the history books.

“Will you have to retire?” Yukimura asks him. The evening twilight has settled over the world and she shivers slightly even beneath the heavily padded coat and the blanket over her legs. Sanada has his face turned away. Doesn’t catch it. 

“I shall return to my duties in time,” he grunts. Untalkative. Or a little shy. She can’t tell which is more accurate. 

Yukimura smiles. It is small and could best be described as passing for demure. She saves the unrestrained smiles for when she’s alone. For when she spends time in her gardens, tending to the flowers in it. Perhaps, for when she paints. 

It is however not a false smile, nothing like the polite smiles she reserves for outsiders such as business partners or political opponents of her father. Sanada looks taken aback when he catches the expression on her face, quick to turn away. Cheeks a little pink.

“It is nothing grievous,” Sanada says, like he had to her father when questioned on his braced arm. “I would have been able to remain but… but it’s been a long time since I last returned to Rikkai so I accepted to take a few weeks off. I was in the wrong spot during a minor workplace accident.”

“I’m glad,” Yukimura says. He is too transparent, too willing to give himself to her. “Come for dinner again tomorrow, Sanada-san. I will play the shamisen after.”

Sanada looks at her again. The newly sprouted leaves rustle in the breeze. Spring is a good time for courtship. 

“Of course.”

Her sister helps her with the finishing touches, shooing away the maids before she takes hold of the small pot of make-up. With delicate fingertips she pats the light pink rouge to Yukimura’s cheeks, just a dusting that enhances the otherwise naturally pale skin. She then pats a little bit of the remaining colour onto her own cheek, before procuring a napkin from her sleeve and wiping the excess off.

With clean fingers she helps loosen a few strands of hair from the heavy and detailed up-do, that will frame her face in a way Yukimura herself finds to be most flattering.

“Onee-sama,” her sister whispers and waits for a reply that won’t come. The invitation for Yukimura to indulge or gossip hangs in the air until she admits her defeat and leads Yukimura to where they will await Sanada’s arrival. It is the largest of the rooms wherein they receive guests, so it is only natural they will greet him there, however Yukimura and her father had been in agreement it would be beneficial to have today’s meeting take place entirely in one of the traditional rooms rather than the sparsely but fashionably western styled space.

Yukimura isn’t too fond of the style of it all, whatever supposed allure of the foreign not necessarily encompassing the aesthetics she values, but the furnishing has its benefits purely practically. Not having to be seated on the floor has its benefits. 

This visit will only take a few hours at most though, nothing that she can not handle. Her sister keeps stealing glances at her. Yukimura’s lips are drawn into a small pleasant smile, thinking of her sister’s own potential love match. She has never understood the younger girl. 

The two men arrive not long after, their father tall and straight but he would probably have been half a head shorter than Sanada even in his youth. 

“Yukimura-san,” Sanada says to her and bows his head in greeting. Good manners. 

“Sanada Genichirou-san,” she replies, politely. Perhaps she is too cold, she considers, though Sanada’s face betrays nothing. Does he even know as to why he’s here — surely someone must have told him? Her father greets Sanada further, welcomes him to their home. 

If he knows that he is visiting as a potential suitor, he must be full of questions. Lady Yukimura has a tendency for aloofness, it is said. That she is someone closed off beyond her gentle smiles. 

The weeks before her twenty-fourth birthday, her father comes to her rooms with a photograph. A couple of months old according to the date jotted down, slightly dented at one corner. 

“You must remember him, it is the Sanadas younger son, you were acquainted as children,” her father says. He has never been too pushy about the topic of marriage, but with his own declining health Yukimura knows he would at least like for one of his daughters to have married. “He is returning to Rikkai. It is unconfirmed, but I hear it’s for rest, something about an injury he acquired in the north.”

Yukimura remembers Sanada Genichirou. He had cried, more than once, when they were children. It had been in response to— to matters she doesn’t remember too clearly. Before he was reminded that he wasn’t to, especially not in front of girls. She wonders if he still does, or if he grew up. Perhaps had it beaten out of him when he had arrived at the capital. The man in this picture doesn’t look like he would cry. 

She wonders if he would have to retire from what should be a blooming career. It would be too forward to ask her father at this point, any query likely to be taken for concern and interest. The ideal husband is one who will spend extended periods of time away from their home, one who has a place in the capital and ties to the court, for Yukimura has an arrangement in mind. 

This future where she is married, where she has a child, is due to the world where political games for a woman are best unlocked and played as a kind wife and a doting mother — and in the quiet rumblings of continuous political paradigms, like the aftershocks of an earthquake, there is instability and opportunities. 

If not for her sickly body, she would have been able to spend more time studying in the capital herself, but even so she has still dined with men of great importance by her father’s side. The name Yukimura carried a weight with it that few did in this day and age.

It was no secret that the Sanadas had fallen in the social ranks since the reformation, so tied to their traditional ways that there had been some trouble adapting to the changes no matter how hard they had tried. 

The elder of the Sanada brothers ran the family estate well and had a moderately good standing though, and last she heard Sanada Genichirou had been doing well in his field. Her own father had never specified entirely what it was, thinking her too uninterested. That wasn’t wholly wrong, but Yukimura recalls that it had surprised her at the time. Something related to modernising cities. More importantly, her father had mentioned meeting the younger Sanada in settings with other guests of a certain political level.

She lifts her gaze from the photograph. “Otou-sama, I would like to meet Sanada-san.”

**Author's Note:**

> \+ the title is a reference to  _san san kudo_ , a tradition where the husband and wife (and their parents) drink from three cups of sake as part of the marriage ceremony — and also the tarot card 'three of cups' and its meanings, whether reversed or not, somewhat jokingly   
>  \+ i’m not usually one to use r63 for het, but political marriages are a favourite trope of mine and despite being a sanayuki truelove endgameist i enjoy playing with the more messy aspects of their dynamic too   
>  \+ nothing can convince me that yukimura wouldn’t be at least as terrifying as a woman


End file.
